


Spark of Stardust

by thenightgazer



Series: Tales of Apotelesma [6]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: DMC anime reference, Developing Relationship, Drug Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, First Dates, Kyrie is mentioned, Lucid Dreaming, Mind Link, Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy, Mystery, Nero and Dante make a brief appearance, Parental Abuse, Poisoning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Drama, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Suspense, a bit of Dadgil moment, a bit suspense in the end of the chapter, implied psychological abuse, stylish Vergil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:55:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29172225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenightgazer/pseuds/thenightgazer
Summary: There will be the time when secrets have to be revealed. Both Vergil and Lyra understand that.
Relationships: Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Original Female Character(s), Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Series: Tales of Apotelesma [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1609372
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. An Interstellar Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not a date. Vergil insists upon it, even when he doubts himself as he asks Lyra to accompany him to search for a perfect birthday gift for Kyrie. But just like the dying star that sparks its undying stardust; the "date" is just a start for him to get to know more about Lyra, as the librarian reveals her "little, deepest and darkest secrets".

_It starts with a soft hand that brushes his face. The fuzzy sensation wakes him up. The lamp on the ceiling is the first thing he sees when he slowly opens his eyes wide awake. His eyes linger to his surroundings— and that shocks him because he’s no longer in his bedroom at Devil May Cry. He’s awakened in someone else’s bedroom. The wall is painted with warm colours and there is a large bookshelf besides the bed. When he turns his head to his left, he spots toys and trinkets which supposedly belong to a little girl, and there sits a young woman who smiles at him_.

Where am I?

_“How was your sleep?” she asks him. Her soft hand ruffles his hair gently. “You look so peaceful.”_

_He’s speechless. Not because he doesn’t want to answer, but his mouth won’t cooperate with his head. His survival instincts scream at him to get away from this situation, but all he could feel is numbness._

_“I brought you dinner,” the beautiful woman continues. He observes her cautiously; she is approximately in her thirties, with long brunette hair and brown eyes. She looks like the kind of woman who looks absolutely harmless. The way her body moves is delicate. Her voice sounds appealing as she tells him the menu and hopes he will like it. She gives him the same warm impression as his own mother, but this woman seems shady. Her eyes remind him of someone... but he couldn’t remember the person._ The same cold, void eyes...

“The nurse said you haven’t eaten since last night. You refused to take your medicines. Why? Don’t you want to get better?” Her voice turns colder. “When I heard that you refused to eat, I couldn’t concentrate on my work. I’m afraid you won’t get better. Now you will eat and take your medicine for me, okay?”

 _He can’t follow everything she has said just now._ Who is this woman? What medicines? What nurse? _But his head nods automatically as if his body is controlled by someone else, and that little gesture makes this woman’s warm smile appear on her pretty face again._

_“Good. Let’s eat! After that, I’ll read you something exciting. How’s that sound?”_

_He nods obediently, opening his mouth to eat the porridge. He can’t feel the taste, nor can he sense the texture of the food. But the woman looks at him as if she would blast if he didn’t eat. The sound of friction between the spoon and the bowl drives him crazy. She’s making sure that he swallows the food as she cleans up his mouth. After the bowl is empty, she proceeds to pour something from a bottle—medicine— on a small spoon and look up at him, opening her mouth as a command for him to mimic her gesture. She seems delighted when he swallows the medicine._

_“Atta girl.”_

What is this nonsense? What is that thing she put inside me?

_But he knows he won’t get the answer._

It’s all just a dream, right?

_The woman walks to the bookshelf. Her fingers run through the book until she finds the one she desires. She sits back besides him again and opens the book, her fingers scan through the pages._

_“You don’t like Cinderella, so I picked up this one,” she shows him the cover of the book. “I guarantee you’ll like it! It’s called The Hobbit, an adventure story. Your favourite, right?”_

I do like adventure stories. But it isn’t my favourite. It’s Dante’s…

_She starts her storytelling in a clear voice. “In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit...”_

_There’s something in her face when she reads. She seems more relaxed and softer than before, as if she got lost in the story. His suspicion is surprisingly gone while he listens to her and the familiarity strikes him again. She reminds him of his own mother when he was a child, reading him bedtime stories. Cambions in their early childhood needed a lot of sleep just like human children, but Dante and he always refused to sleep early and asked for more stories. There’s something peaceful about this familiarity. It calms him, then he decides to close his eyes again whilst the woman’s voice slowly fades away._

* * *

The dream shatters as Vergil’s cell phone rings loudly.

The hybrid lays still on his bed. He was sleeping for two hours just because he had no other options left to do aside from sleeping. Yet, even though his body doesn’t particularly need to sleep, he hates it when his slumber is interrupted. His hand reaches to find his phone and immediately pick it when he finds it on the desk beside his bed without seeing who’s calling him because he doesn’t bother to open his sleepy eyes.

“Dad?”

That familiar voice forces Vergil to open his eyes.

“Nero?”

“Yeah. You busy?”

“No,” Vergil throws a blanket from his naked chest as he moves his body to sit and brushes his hair. “What’s wrong, Nero?”

Nero doesn’t reply immediately. Vergil can hear a heavy sigh from his son and that makes him a bit anxious. 

“Nothing wrong. Just...” The young devil hunter lets out another sigh. “Today is Kyrie’s birthday. She invites you and the crews for dinner at six. Uh… six as in Fortuna time, which is an hour later from Red Grave time. Just in case you got lost in time again.”

“Of course. We will be attending the dinner. Thank you for the invitation.”

“It’s Kyrie who invites you, not me.”

“...”

“... but having you around here is not so bad. The kids were always whining whenever you and Dante left the house.” Nero’s response is almost excited and eager, much to Vergil’s relief.

The picture of Julio, Carlo and Kyle somehow makes Vergil grins. “You did very well taking care of those little rascals.”

“Thanks,” there’s a pause before Nero continues. “Anyway, I should get going. Nico needs my help to do some crazy shit.”

“I hope all is well for you.”

“You too, I guess...” the young man clears his throat. “And... thank you. For accepting the invitation.”

“It’s the least I could do,” The blue devil smiles, his anxiety is gone as their interaction goes smoothly. “Carry on, son.”

“Y-yeah— bye, then.”

Warmth fills Vergil’s heart as he cleans up his bed and folds the blanket neatly. Never in his life would he have thought that he’d become a father. Even though it was unplanned, having a son does change his life. He has no parental figures to ask advice from and those parenting books are not helping at all, but he learns at his own pace. Two years of effort of atonement is nothing compared to his sins, yet he wants the very best for Nero and is very protective to him.

Then the word stings him.

_Birthday, huh?_

Ever since he was a little boy, Vergil has never understood the concept of celebrating birthdays. For him, birthday is just another day to pass. If anything, it seems like people love to celebrate the day when their life spans decrease. _People are getting old, so what? Why do we celebrate that irony? Is that because of the presents and cake?_ Little Vergil never found the answer, but he did feel happy whenever he received presents and ate his birthday cake, even if that means he had to share it with his twin, Dante (he had given up the dream of having his own cake, since being twins means sharing almost everything). He didn’t even think about birthdays until Nero reminded him.

_I wonder if he knows his birthday..._

Vergil walks to the bathroom and washes his face. He looks at the mirror and the man guy in the mirror stares back at him. His reflection somehow reminds him of the strange dream. _What was that dream about? It seems visceral, like it was my own memory._ His heartbeat gets faster when he has a dreadful negative thought that it could be Mundus’ mind manipulation. _If that was Mundus, it’s too pointless. He’d use my own memories to torture me, not with some kind of irrelevant vision._

“Mornin’,” Dante shoves himself besides Vergil and yawns. “I’m hungry.”

“Pleased to meet you, Hungry.”

Dante bursts into laughter. “Since when are you into dad jokes?”

“I’ll take the shower first.” Ignoring Dante’s question, Vergil picks up a dry towel and gets inside the shower cubicle.

Dante takes off his shirt and stretches his muscles. He washes his face and begins to shave his beard. “You said you fought Angelo demons at last week’s gig, right? Heard from Lady the same Angelo demons got sighted at another city. We still don’t have any information on who created and summoned them.”

Vergil wipes the droplets of water from his face. “It seems like those Angelo demons were none like all the artificial demons we have ever seen before. Their form, their abilities, their durability. They looked rather... futuristic, I'd say. I got an impression that the new Angelo was created mostly by advanced science rather than magic.”

“Another thing happened these past weeks. There are three outbursts at restricted medical facilities in different cities.”

“What medical facility?”

“Trish said that the three of them were research laboratories owned by Ravenhill Corporation.”

“Isn’t that the same corporation that won a peace award or something like that?”

“Yeah. The Ravenhills are an influential aristocrat with power over the health and security industry. Most of the health facilities in this world are sponsored and if not, owned by Ravenhill Corporation. They have a branch company here in this city too.”

“And do you think those incidents have a connection with the appearance of Angelo demons?” 

“Just a gut feeling, but that’s worth investigating, better safe than sorry, aight?” Dante brushes his hair and flips it back like Vergil. “Hey, I look just like you with this hairstyle! Perhaps I should go with this style from now on.”

“If you’re done talking, get out of the bathroom.”

“This is MY bathroom!”

“And I’m the one who cleans up the mess you’ve created in this house, Dante.”

“Fine~!” Dante chuckles as he cleans up the remaining shaving foam from his jaw. “Have you bought something for Kyrie’s birthday? Got missed calls and a text about the dinner party from Nero.”

“Not yet.”

“I’ve been thinking of giving her a fancy revolver. Heard from Nero that she’s quite good at using guns.”

“... do you really think that women fancy weapons as a gift?”

“Trish and Lady do. But hey! You can go ask our clever librarian!” Dante's face lightens up in exhilaration.

Vergil turns off the shower and wraps a towel around his waist as he opens the cubicle. “What do you mean by ’our’?!”

“Yours, then. She’s a normal civilian woman. Perhaps she can recommend you a perfect gift for Kyrie.”

 _No, if only you know that she’s not normal!_ “... you’re probably right.”

A teasing whistle comes from Dante as he takes off his pants and walks inside the cubicle. “As Yoda said, Verge, _‘ do or do not. There is no try ’_. Call her and ask her out for a date.”

“I’m not taking any advice from a man who has rotten luck with women. And who is Yoda?”

“Call it what you want it. If you’re not asking her out, I’ll go ask her by myself.”

“Not before I step over your dead body.”

“Ha! Someone’s jealous for realsies~”

Vergil walks away from the bathroom before his inner turmoil tempts him to try to kill Dante… again. His insolent brother might have been teasing him too much, but in a way he’s right. He needs to find someone trusted enough to help him buy the perfect gift for Kyrie.

_But she’s on duty today is her work day. I won’t make it right on time to the party if I have to wait for her shift to end._

He’s still thinking about it when he enters his room on the second floor and grabs his phone. Lyra’s contact name is showing up, but he hesitates. It’s still 9 o’clock. The library must have just opened.

After having a quite long internal battle with himself, he decides to call her anyway.

It takes a little bit long for Lyra to finally pick up her phone. Vergil catches the sound of her voice and a man’s laugh who Vergil assumes is Nate. _“Bugger off for a minute, will you?_ — Clayton here.”

“Lyra.”

“Oh, hello Vergil!”

“Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all! Is there anything I can help you with?”

“... yes.”

“Are you okay? You sound like you want to cry.”

“I am certainly not,” Vergil groans at Lyra’s giggle. “Yet, I do believe I need your help.”

“Name it!”

“... it’s about a birthday present.” Vergil clears his throat. “Do you remember Kyrie, my son’s fiancée? She will be celebrating her birthday this evening. She invited Dante and I to her house for dinner.”

“I see.”

“Kyrie has always been there for Nero,” he continues. “She helped guide him to become the person he is now. She took care of him while I wasn’t there for him. She’s an important person to my son. That’s why... at least I have to show her some respect.”

“By giving her a decent birthday present.”

“Yes.”

“I think she will appreciate everything you give to her.”

“She will, certainly. She’s too polite to reject a present, but I don’t want her to think that I’m a careless father-in-law by giving her a gratuitous gift.”

“You’re right. I’d be delighted to accompany you to buy the present, but…I’m on duty right now. I’m afraid I couldn't help you any further.”

“That I know. That’s why I call for your advice.”

“I suggest something small, but meaningful. You told me she love to sing, right? Maybe a vinyl of classical music would — _what in the bloody—! Nate! Give me back my phone at once!_ ”

Vergil hears them grumbling and arguing at something. He considers to just hang up the phone given to his hunch that Lyra and Nate are probably having a fight right now, but suddenly he hears Nate’s voice as the young librarian speaks to him.

“Mr. Vergil? It’s Nate!”

 _This scoundrel's audacity...!_ “I recognize your voice, Nathaniel. What are you doing with Lyra’s phone?”

“Err... sorry for the interruption, but Lyra forced me to tell you this myself, or else you won’t believe her! I told her that I don’t mind if she wants to go on a date with you! My father won’t be checking on the library today!” Nate lets out a dry chuckle to break the ice, but since Vergil says nothing, Nate continues to speak. “She insisted on at least working today, so I told her to finish the duty earlier so she could spend her time with you. That’s all! Oh yeah, a little advice here; Lyra has a terrible sense of direction, means that you should hold her close— _ouch!_ ” 

A sound of a book slapped on Nate’s head comes to Vergil’s ear. The next is Lyra’s nervous voice talking to him. “Vergil? You heard Nate. So... we meet at three. How’s that sound?”

“I’ll pick you up at the library.”

“Okay!”

“Then... I’ll see you around.”

“Cheerio!”

Vergil hangs up the phone, unexpectedly feeling the queasiness after he recalls the word ‘date’ as Dante and Nate said earlier. Foolish. _We are not dating. We are just going to buy a birthday present. That’s all. Stop this unnecessary disquietude. It’s just Lyra—_

“Tell me you’re not gonna go on a date with your boring clothes!”

Vergil hardly glances to his side and sees Patty’s figure standing by his door. The twenty years old girl is wearing an apron and holding a broom in her hand. “At least wear something stylish! You and Dante are all hopeless! No wonder the two of you haven’t gotten married yet!”

“I believe that’s none of your concern, Miss Lowell. And although I lack what humans would consider common sense, the last time I know about human norms and etiquette, that it is rude to trespass on someone's private space and eavesdrop on other people’s conversation.”

“I’m not eavesdropping! I just happened to pass this room while cleaning this house because lately you are not present in this house and Dante is being a lazy bastard as usual! Show some gratitude!”

“Thank you for your help. But as you can see now, I am here and that means I will do the household job while you can go disturb Dante’s peace now.”

 **“Hey! I heard that!”** Dante shouts from the first floor.

“Anyways, let me help you to choose better clothes for you!” Patty insists. “I don’t know who this girl is because Dante won’t tell me, but she seems special to you. You need to dress at your best! Impressing a girl on their first date is a must!”

“I’ll forgive your impudent attitude this time if you kindly close the door, Miss Lowell. I need to put some clothes on.”

Realizing that Vergil wears nothing but a towel wrapped on his waist, Patty flusters as she looks away and grabs the door knob violently. “Fine!”

The blue devil chuckles softly when he hears Patty goes downstairs and screams at Dante for whatever antics that he does right now. He searches through his wardrobe, pondering if Patty was right. And maybe she is. He’s about to blend into society, that means he needs to look less suspicious. He should wear something casual and humane.

_Humans and their fashion. Even demons are much simpler._

He picks some clothes with a hope that he won’t look too ridiculous.

* * *

“Do you think he’s the type of person who brings flowers for a date?” Nate throws paper planes at Lyra’s direction, which she blocks it all with a book.

“Why do you insist that this is a date? We are friends. Friends go hang out sometimes.” Lyra says.

“Dammit, Lyre! You are older than me but I can’t believe you’re so clueless about this. Even idiots could tell that he likes you!”

Lyra groans desperately. “That’s it. That’s the problem of modern society. People nowadays confuse politeness with flirting!”

“Sometimes both work simultaneously! And that’s the case of Mr. Vergil. Sure, he’s polite to everyone even though he always looks like he wanted to kill someone. But he’s different with you; he’s not just polite, but **kind**. That’s two different things!”

Lyra half-heartedly listens to Nate’s babble; despite she already knows what is inside Nate’s mind. She knows what he means about Vergil being kind only to her, and Nate’s mind interprets how soft Vergil is whenever he’s around her. The thought of those forms of romanticism confuses her. Being a telepath, she has seen and listened into people’s minds for almost her entire life. She’s no stranger to the concept of love according to universal belief, yet she still doubts its existence.

_Sometimes, what people think about something isn’t always synchronized with how they feel about it._

_And speaking of which, I haven’t heard Nate’s thoughts since fifteen seconds ago..._

“He’s here!” Nate declares as he looks up at the window near the front door. “Wait, uh... is it really him?”

“What?”

“He looks... different.” Nate mumbles. “And he didn’t bring flowers. Guess he’s not the flower type of guy.”

“On the contrary, he is.” Lyra takes a brief look at her appearance in the mirror and puts on eyeglasses before giving a wink at Nate. “See you tomorrow!”

“Now who’s excited about the date!?”

She giggles throughout her journey to the front door, only to be surprised when she opens the door and finds Vergil standing in front of her and about to open the door too. But today he looks stunningly different; he is wearing as black shirt beneath a navy-blue casual coat. His dark trousers make him look taller than usual. He changes his footwear into a pair of black chukka boots. Even with his usual warrior clothes, Vergil Sparda is already breathtakingly handsome. His casual look just enhances his majestic stature. 

Lyra has never really given any attention to fashion, but now she can’t take her eyes off of him. “What’s with the sudden change in your sense of fashion?” 

“You don’t like it?”

“I like it!” she blurts. “You look… so… normal”

“Is it just me or does it sound like an insult?”

“It’s a compliment!”

“... thank you, I suppose,” Vergil reluctantly scratches his nape. “Shall we go now?”

“Let’s!”

Lyra glares at Nate who’s giving her double thumbs up and loudly wishing her good luck before she closes the door.

“So,” the librarian walks side by side with Vergil. “Do you remember I mentioned that I purchased my devil arm at an antique shop?”

“Yes. What’s with that?”

“I think it’s a good place to start our quest. The shop sells antique weapons, jewelries, old books and trinkets. Perfect collection for Kyrie.”

“Very well. Where’s this shop located?”

“Nova Town.”

“It’s too far from here.”

“Lucky for us, you have Yamato.”

“I’m beginning to think that you see me as a mere means tool of transportation.”

“Maybe,” she winks playfully. “But you are too decent to be a mere tool, my dearest friend.”

The hybrid rolls his eyes, “Let’s find an empty alley first.”

* * *

“That was the first time I saw Lyra smiling like that,” Nate mutters at himself as he taps something on his cell phone. “Good for her! Ever since I saw their chemistry on the murder in the library weeks ago, I know they’re going to form a relationship soon!”

The twenty four years old librarian giggles at his own fantasy while drowning himself further into a mobile game he always plays whenever he has free time. He almost startled himself when the bell rings and a customer comes in. Nate abruptly pauses the game and greets the guest. “Welcome to The Literarium!”

The guest — a tall and ginger-haired man — returns Nate’s greeting with a nod. A suspicion arises in Nate’s head as he observes the man’s eyes that are covered with sunglasses. _Why the hell does he wear sunglasses indoors?_ He continues to follow the man’s movement, which is also suspicious. The man seems detached from reality as he stares at one of the shelves quite long without really doing anything, not even touching the books. He walks slowly to another section, again without any interest in the books. The man seems eager to look for something as he repeatedly tilts his head to look outside the window, but Nate is certain that he’s not here for books. _Then why bother coming here if he’s not interested in books?_ Nate clicks his pen anxiously. _Paranoia begins to consume him. What if he wants to rob this place?!_

The ginger-haired man approaches the sale section and finally picks a book. He looks at the cover briefly before heading to the counter. Nate fakes a polite smile when he scans the book— _Lord of the Flies_ by William Golding— and forces himself to make a small talk. “Fine day, isn’t it?”

The man nods while giving Nate his money. “I agree.”

“You like allegorical one, huh?”

The man furrows his brow. “Sorry?”

Nate lifts the copy of _Lord of the Flies_ . “You don’t know that Golding wrote one of the best allegorical novels all the time?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I only recognized it as one of the bestseller books,” the man chuckles. His laughter surprisingly sounds very friendly. “I picked it because the synopsis reminds me of the past.”

“Jesus, what a chaotic past you must have back then.” Nate gives him the book and his change.

“Quiet so,” the man flips the page, but Nate can sense he’s focusing on another thing. “By the way, the woman who wears eyeglasses… She came out from this place with a man about five minutes ago. Does she work here?”

 _Shit, another Lyra’s admirer. That explains my suspicion!_ “Yeah. You know her?”

“She looks like a person I used to know. Quite different, but I spot some similarities.”

“Maybe they are the same person?”

“The same person?” the man chuckles again as he closes the book. “That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“She died years ago.”

“Oh, man… I’m so sorry...”

“It’s fine. She wasn’t related to me, just a person I knew. At first glance, your friend looks eerily similar to her,” the man’s face abruptly turns into doubt and anxious. Nate swears he can see his hands tremble. “I was terribly surprised when I saw your friend out there. I thought the woman I knew was alive again. What is the name? Your lady friend, I mean.”

“Louisa.” Nate lightly says his lie as soon as he’s aware of the man’s intention. _I’m not doing anything wrong. Lyra told me to fake a name in case some flirty bastards ask me her name._

“Louisa, then. Pretty name,” the man seems pleased at Nate’s answer. “Thank you. Lovely library, anyway. Good day for you.”

“Thank you. Happy reading and have a good day!”

 _He’s different from any of Lyra’s secret admirers_ , Nate feels uneasy about the man’s strange attitude even though the man has already taken his leave. He makes a mental note to contact Lyra soon after he closes the library. “That guy looks like he’s about to plan something fishy. But I can’t disturb Lyra and Mr. Vergil right now.”

Nate grabs his cell phone and restarts the game with a hope that nothing bad would happen.

* * *

_She’s strangely quiet today._

Ever since they arrived at Nova Town, Vergil catches something unusual from Lyra. She guides the way to the antique shop without talking to him but carefully watches her surroundings. But at the same time, she seems to lose her focus and sometimes stares blankly at something. They have been walking for almost 30 minutes and they haven’t arrived at the antique shop yet. Also, that’s not the only thing from her that is unusual... “You wear eyeglasses.”

“Huh?” Lyra automatically touches her eyeglasses. “Why? You don’t like a girl with eyeglasses?”

“I don’t dislike it.”

“You have a funny way to compliment others, don’t you?”

“I have never seen you wearing eyeglasses before. I thought I was looking at a completely different person when you opened the door earlier.”

“I always wear eyeglasses whenever I’m out to shop, just for aesthetic purposes. I’ll take it off if that makes you uncomfortable—”

“Please don’t. You look lovely with that.”

“Thanks!”

“You’re welcome. Are we getting closer to the shop?”

“… I think so?”

Vergil stops abruptly, “Tell me we are not lost.”

“W-we’re not!” she stutters in panic. “I’m just having a little confusion here, because this town looks different from the last time I came here. It has only been two years and the town is already changing...”

“Are you even certain that we are in the right town?”

“One hundred percent certain!”

“Then tell me,” Vergil curves a devilish grin. “Is Nathaniel right? That you have a terrible sense of direction?”

A light blush blooms on Lyra’s face. “Uh... yeah— but we are in the right town! For real! Just because I have a terrible sense of direction, doesn’t mean I’m an idiot!”

“Yet we are lost, aren’t we?”

“We are not! See that monument over there? It’s the town’s icon. We just have to turn left to that road and the antique shop should be on the right corner.”

Vergil watches the monument that Lyra mentioned before he glances at her again with doubtful looks. “Alright, then. But why don’t you use… what is it again... GPS?”

“Later. I’m practicing my sense of direction by practicing my telepathic ability.”

“Does your telepathic ability have something to do with your sense of direction?”

“Since the murder in the library, I’m practicing to read people’s mind whenever you’re around me because your magical defense blocks my telepathic ability. Normally, all I need to do is just focus on their minds and find out if some of them have knowledge of the place I’m about to go.”

“Why bother? You still can read minds by touching their body parts.”

“That’s impractical! Not everyone wants to be touched. Just imagine if I need to touch a person with haphephobia.”

“I thought you like it when you don’t have to read minds anymore.”

“Just in case of an emergency. Who knows if we would find any strange cases again, or if I’m stuck with Dante and there’s an urgent situation where I’m required to smuggle into someone’s head.”

“Hold on. Your telepathy doesn’t work on Dante too?”

“I guess the power of Sparda includes protection from telepaths.”

“I see. Now I understand,” Vergil scoffs. “The reason why you were awfully quiet since we stepped in this town is that you tried to practice your telepathic ability to find out the antique shop’s direction, so you won’t embarrass yourself in front of me because you have poor sense of direction and you think having to use GPS would make you look unreliable as a guide.”

Lyra hides her hands behind her back and stares at the ground, which to Vergil indicates that everything he said is true and that she’s embarrassed to admit it. To be very honest, he doesn’t think that Lyra does something wrong. He just wants to clarify things behind her unusual behavior, but it unconsciously sounds like he’s scolding her for her little secret.

“Just use the GPS if you need it. You have nothing to be ashamed of. That won’t make me think less of you.”

Lyra seems to hesitate at first, but eventually shrugs and takes her phone out from her bag. Vergil quietly smirks at her surrender.

“Fortunately, we’re on the right track!” She shows Vergil the map. “Thank you for your encouragement, Vergil. That’s the longest advice you ever said to me.”

He shrugs it off. “I guess that’s what friends are for.”

“Still, that means a lot to me.”

“Just forget it. Then how’s your practice going?”

“Still doing my best. The first time I tried to read someone’s mind without touching them whenever you were around me, it was all nothing. But now I can see blurry images and hear buzzing sound!” She smiles at him, her eyes beam as she points at the rustic shop at the corner of the street. “Look! We've arrived!”

When Vergil enters the antique shop, he expects the shopkeeper to greet them with unstoppable pestering offers like all the shopkeepers normally do. That’s why he hates shopping. Thankfully the shopkeeper is sleeping on the counter, like she doesn’t care if someone steals one of the items. The shop itself is quiet and the goods are all unique. The problem is, Vergil doesn’t know where to start searching. There are many items that Vergil puts a certain degree of interest in—necklaces, bracelets, clocks, paintings—but he doesn’t think that it would be useful or meaningful to Kyrie. He starts to think about Dante’s suggestion to give her a weapon for self-protection. It seems easier than this endless searching.

“Do you know the biggest dilemma when it comes to shopping? You expect to find a certain thing, but when you’re in the shop, suddenly you’re not sure what to buy anymore.” Lyra chuckles at Vergil’s confused expression.

“Evidently,” Vergil picks an antique revolver. “I think I want to give her a weapon.”

“Is Kyrie an excellent combatant?”

“She can take care of herself, though she still needs a lot of practice, but she won’t survive a second if she had to fight multiple opponents.”

“Mmmm... okay but... how about something for protection from the demons?”

“That will do. It’s way more practical and useful.”

“Alright. Let’s ask the shopkeeper.”

Vergil points his chin at the counter. “She’s sleeping.”

“I’ll wake her up.” Lyra fixates her focus on the shopkeeper until she slowly raises her head from the counter table and rubs her eyes.

Vergil almost couldn’t hide his amusement. _She can wake someone up from slumber? How advanced is her ability actually?_

The shopkeeper yawns loudly. “Welcome. How can I help y’all?”

“We’re looking for an item for protection from demons. Do you have anything suitable for that?” Lyra asks.

The shopkeeper looks straight to Lyra’s eyes, then to Vergil’s. She sighs as she walks to the weapon cabinet. “I don’t have much of that, but I have this one. Take a look.” she mumbles, handing Lyra a red music box. The music box looks captivating with a rose pattern carved on the box. When Lyra opens the music box, Vergil recognizes the box is playing Bach’s The Well-Tempered Clavier.

“Lovely, but I don’t see what’s so special about the music box,” Vergil mutters his doubt. 

“Easy, dude. Push the button near the mirror to open the secret room behind it.”

Lyra does the exact instruction until the secret room is opened and reveals a golden bracelet inside.

“What’s that for?” Lyra asks.

“It will glow red whenever there's demons nearby,” the shopkeeper lights her cigarette and walks back to the counter. “When the bracelet glows, you press it and close your eyes, because it will cast a very blinding light. It’ll blind and burn demons and that’s the best time for you to run away.”

Lyra glances at Vergil, who’s examining the music box and the bracelet. She holds her giggle when she notices that the bracelet glows in red when Vergil holds it and abruptly puts it back to the secret room behind the mirror before the shopkeeper notices it.

“I guess the bracelet couldn’t distinguish demons and cambions,” she whispers to him.

“This should be fine,” Vergil forms a satisfied grin. “It has both protection advantage and aesthetical function. Perfect.”

“You take that?!” the shopkeeper shouts eagerly.

“Yes,” Vergil replies. “Is there a money-back guarantee in case the item doesn’t properly work?”

“This is an antique shop, dude. Some items might not working at all—”

“I believe I don’t have to repeat myself.” Vergil insists.

The shopkeeper gulps at Vergil’s unspeakable death threat within his icy eyes, knowing that there’s no use to argue with a man like Vergil. “Dammit, fine! Now can I get my money?”

Lyra howls with laughter, “Blimey, you are a terrifying customer.”

Vergil grins in pride as he heads to the counter.

* * *

The birthday party will begin in an hour, but Vergil chooses to spend the rest of the time with Lyra at the Sparda Manor. During the day time, they only meet in the library. That makes their little adventure today seem rare... and fun. Lyra buys them ice creams at the end of their journey in Nova Town. She can’t hold her laughter when she catches Vergil’s eyes sparking in childish interest as he holds his ice cream once the magic portal opens its way to the Manor.

“The shopkeeper was different from the one whom I met two years ago. He was nice and helpful,” Lyra murmurs, licking her bubblegum ice cream. “Guess he didn’t work there anymore. We get a sleepyhead instead.”

Vergil says nothing as he examines his blueberry ice cream cone. His memory of V eating cheeseburger hits him. “Why do humans think that creating something messy is a good idea?”

“It’s called innovation, Vergil.”

“Messy innovation.”

“As long as people like it, it is considered as a great innovation.”

He finally gives up and chomps his ice cream. “This is not bad.”

“Tell me this is not your first time eating ice cream.”

“I might be inexperienced in human lifestyle, but that doesn’t mean I never tasted ice cream.”

 _It’s strange,_ Vergil recalls the moment when they used to be strangers before Almagest helped them to get closer. Now they stand side by side and talk about stuff like old friends to the point where he could never get enough of her companionship. He lets her wander around his childhood house, even if he barely calls it a house now. He lets out a silent chuckle when she lifts a pile of rocks up to the air just to see what hides behind it, only to find another ruins and she’s slightly disappointed.

“For a second I thought your father was Johann Sebastian Bach.” Lyra looks up at Sparda’s family painting.

“You are not the first person who said that.”

She laughs. “Oh look at you… stoic since you were born. And I already got a picture on Dante being impatient while the painter kept asking him to stand still.”

“Pretty much correct. He complained how itchy his feet were at the end of the session.”

“Your mother was gorgeous,” Lyra admires Eva’s angelic stature. “No wonder Sparda fell for her.”

Vergil forms a wistful smile. “She was.”

“This painting reminds me of The Picture of Dorian Gray .”

“Pray tell, why?”

“Dorian sold his soul to the devil for eternal youth, and it decayed his self-portrait painting every time he did a sin. Of course your family portrait is a different case, but you see, your mother’s face is the only one that didn’t get burned by fire. It’s like a sign that she was the only human in the family…”

“And the rest of the family members were cursed by the evil blood that ran in their veins. That’s why the faces of the three of us were burned. That’s a picturesque perspective.”

“I didn’t say that demon is always evil—”

“I know. Still, it’s a good metaphor. Haven’t thought of it myself.”

“Why don’t you take the painting with you? People keep their family portrait in their house.”

“Dante and I agreed to leave it here as a sign that this mansion once belonged to our family. Besides, I can’t imagine such a painting to be hanged on the shop’s soiled wall. It would be a disgrace for the painting itself.”

“Now that you mentioned it, I think you are right.”

Lyra continues to lift some rocks and put it back carefully once she finds nothing interesting.. “Have you been in there again after you escaped the Underworld with Dante?”

“To collect mementos, yes. Though, as you can see, nothing much was left since Urizen destroyed the whole city. Not to mention almost all parts of the house were destroyed or blocked by pillars and huge stones. We tried to remove them, but it’d cause a domino effect throughout the manor and demolish it completely.” 

“How did it feel to visit your childhood home again?”

Vergil swallows his ice cream at once. He puts a handkerchief out from his coat and wipes his lips. “It felt mostly heartbreaking.”

“I see,” Lyra nods and gives Vergil a light pat on his shoulder. “Not everyone could even come back to the place where their trauma began. Not that it’s necessary. I just found it encouraging.”

“Speaking of memento, what was the most valuable present you had ever received?” Vergil curiously asks.

“Oh, we start to have a small talk now?”

“I thought we agreed to trust each other, don’t we? Then we should start from mundane things.”

“Alright. Make sense. Let me recall it… mmmm… oh right! A lyre!”

“You play lyre? Amazing.”

“I thought you were about to say ironic.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You know, a lyre plays a lyre.”

Vergil smirks, recalling her remark on their previous little adventure, “You’re right. It’s ironically amazing.”

The librarian rolls her eyes as she bites the ice cream cone. “My mum bought me one for my fifth birthday. It only lasted for two months before I asked her to give me a harp for the next birthday.”

“Did she finally buy you a harp?”

“She didn’t.”

“Why?”

“She died before my next birthday.”

Vergil immediately stared at Lyra’s sullen eyes. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles at him, chewing the last part of her cone. “It was a long time ago.”

Lyra has so many things she hides behind her amicable demeanor, and Vergil should’ve feel relieved because after all these months, Lyra finally opens up a little bit about her family, yet he doesn’t feel it at all.

“Were you close with your mother?” Vergil’s tone is full of consideration.

Lyra taps her fingers on her chin. “I guess so. We only had each other.”

“… How did she… die?”

The librarian smirks at him. “If I told you she fell from the tree, would you believe me?”

“Only if that’s the truth.”

She goes silent for a while, seeming unwilling to continue her story. She opens an empty drawer, looking at nothingness for a while. “You might’ve heard about her.”

“Your mother?”

“Uh-uh,” Lyra nods calmly, but Vergil senses a slight hesitation. “Her name was Asteria Crescent.”

 _Impossible!_ “The award-winning astronomer?”

“Astrobiologist, yes.”

“I see. That explains your fondness of astronomy.”

The first time Vergil heard about Asteria Crescent was when he was eleven years old, still homeless and constantly moved out from place to place in search of power. Asteria’s groundbreaking research of modern astrobiology broke the news. Her discovery led the scientists to rethink human’s position in this world and question the exact location of the Underworld in the known universe, considering demons as an extraterrestrial creature with its own origin and evolution. Demons and magic are inseparable, but Asteria Crescent was brave to make a further step to explain demonology in a scientific approach. _Science and magic are two sides of a coin_ , Vergil recalls her statements. _Science just has yet to understand magic._

“Asteria was a Titan goddess of falling stars and nighttime divinations. That suited her very well,” Lyra chuckles bitterly, swinging her hand to lift a pile of ruins back to its place. “I once wondered why she didn’t name me Hecate, daughter of Asteria and goddess of witchcraft. Maybe at that time, she didn’t have a thought that someday I’ll develop this… psychic ability.”

“The media never reported anything regarding her cause of death. It happened all so sudden, they said.”

“They always spoke highly of her. But when she died, they turned the story into rumors and gossip.”

“So did she fall from the tree?”

“She did fall.”

“But not from the tree.”

Vergil’s demonic eyes catch Lyra’s body slightly flinching, but she maintains her calmness and fakes a smile. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you further about your private life.”

“You entrusted me your biggest secret. I intend to do so. I’m just… not ready to open up, but I know that I want to.”

“When I said that we should try to trust each other, I didn't mean that you should abruptly open yourself to me.”

“Too late. Now you know I’m the daughter of a dead astrobiologist.”

“Why did you change your surname then?”

Lyra stops and gazes at Vergil. She seems anxious while glancing at her surroundings carefully, as if she’s afraid that someone else would hear them. Vergil slightly bows his body when Lyra whispers in his ear.

“I’m being hunted.”

The furrow on Vergil’s brow is going deeper. “By whom?”

“Someone who wants to abuse my power. That’s why I need to change my surname and hang out around wearing eyeglasses, so people won’t find out about my identity.”

For a moment, they stand still there, staring at each other’s eyes to find some clues. It’s logical that Lyra’s unique ability would attract power-seekers, be it humans or demons. Vergil knows it too well; the danger of possessing a greater power. A part of him wants to believe her words…

If only he failed to spot a subtle grin on the corner of her lips.

 _I would be absolutely fooled by her deception_ , Vergil grunts discontentedly. "You are lying, aren’t you?”

Lyra’s laughter echoes throughout the lake.

Vergil snarls at her unstoppable giggle. "Quite a jester, I see.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

Vergil doesn’t bother to reply, because he knows it would lead to another bickering. He doesn’t try to hide his amused smile too, even though Lyra teases him about the ‘sly devil smile’. To be honest, he couldn’t care less. He just wants to see her smile, her true smile.

_Like the way she’s smiling right now._

“Do you want to have a look at the lake?” Vergil offers, trying to lift the mood. “There’s nothing left to see here.”

“Sure!”

They sit on the cobblestone pier in the lake while admiring the twilight sky. It’s Vergil’s favorite place, ever since he was a child. This place has changed; there are no more Qliphoth roots left and there are several trees and wildflowers growing on the land. The lake no longer contains human blood. It’s mesmerizing how fast time flies and changes the entire city.

“I used to spend my days here, reading and playing with Dante,” Vergil says. “We loved being here more than staying indoors.”

“I can see the reason. It’s bloody beautiful here.” Lyra mutters her admiration. She taps her fingers on the cobblestone playfully, causing a small rift in the lake.

“Dante once pushed me to the lake because we fought over a chocolate bar,” Vergil recalls one of his precious memories. “I pretended to be drowned. He pulled me out of the water and cried, pleaded to me for not leaving him alone and that he’s sorry. Promised me that he won’t disturb me again. Right when he shook my body to wake me up, I pushed him to the lake but he managed to drag me with him.”

Lyra can’t hold her howls of laughter. She chortles until her stomach hurts and her throat gets sore. Vergil swears he never saw her laughing like this. “I’m sorry— I— HAHAHAHAHA!”

“Lower your voice,” Vergil grunts. He starts to regret his decision for rambling about his childhood antics just to get rid of Lyra’s gloomy face. “You might end up choking yourself to death.”

“ _Pfffftttt!_ ”

“Will you shut up?!”

“Sorry!” Lyra bites her thumb to hold her cackle but fails. “I just… _bwahahaha!_ It seems that ‘never hold a grudge to the people who wronged you’ is true!”

Vergil pulls her thumb away from her teeth, caressing her reddened thumb. “A little deeper, you would bleed your thumb.”

The careful touch from Vergil distracts Lyra for a while. It’s the first time he holds her without gloves on, and it surprises her how soft his palm is despite the fact that he is a warrior who wields various weapons. Her thumb slips lightly from his palm. “Even if I bleed, I got your Lucy Pevensie’s cordial to heal me.”

Vergil sighs heavily as he removes some strands of Lyra’s hair from her forehead. “I gave it to you for an emergency case only. The cordial was made mostly from demon’s blood, mixed with rare herbs and some complicated spells to make it suitable for human’s bodies. Even the bottle was made from demon’s materials to prevent physical damage. Trish produced only a few bottles of cordial, so use it wisely.”

“I will,” Lyra picks out the cordial bottle from her bag and shows it to Vergil. “See? I haven’t used it since Capulet.”

“Put it back into your bag before it slipped from your hand and fell into the lake.”

“Alright alright! Why do you sound a lot like my mother?” Lyra puts the bottle back into her bag.

“You are clumsy and easily distracted. I have to keep my eyes on you every time. It’s rather distressing.”

“I can take care of myself!” Lyra lays a punch on Vergil’s chest. “Remember, I weakened Phantom last week, so you devil twins could kill that spider easily!”

The cambion smirks disdainfully to her weak strike. He puts something off from the back of his coat and hands it to Lyra. It’s an old book with a black leatherbound with the title engraved in a beautiful golden emboss. “Your payment for escorting me today.”

Lyra observes the front cover with beaming eyes. “The Poems of Edgar Allan Poe...”

“It’s one of the mementos I brought from the Manor. I reckon you would love Poe, given to your fondness of horror and mystery.”

“Then I have to refuse! It’s yours!”

“I believe I made myself clear when I said the book is for you.”

Lyra was about to refuse again, but quickly zip her mouth when Vergil glared at her with his terrifying and undeniable gaze. He won’t take any ‘no’ from her. She flips the pages, and something almost falls from the book before Lyra catches it quickly; an antique necklace with an obsidian pendant. She takes a closer look at the pendant and recognizes the familiar white, shiny dots pattern on it— the Lyra constellation. 

“… did you pick this one too from the manor?” Lyra asks carefully.

“… it was from the antique shop.”

“I didn’t see you strolling around the jewelry section.”

“It was displayed on the counter. Nothing special. Just normal jewelry. The pattern just reminded me of you—”

Vergil can’t finish his sentence because Lyra wraps her arms between his waist, locking him in a tight embrace. He can feel the strange, but comfortable warmth fills his body as he returns to hug her without hesitation. Her body is so small and shorter compared to his height that he needs to bow slightly in order to balance the embrace. He loves her scent— a strange mixture of peach, black tea and old roses— and quietly inhales the intoxicating fragrance from her hair. He feels like he could do this all day.

“Thank you,” Lyra’s murmur vibrates his chest. “I’ll cherish this forever.”

“It's just a book and a necklace.”

“These are the best presents since the lyre from my mum!” she chuckles. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually hug people around.”

“Neither do I.”

“So let us hug a bit longer, shall we?”

“It looks like I have no choices but to comply.”

For a moment, they banish their distrusts about each other, breaking the adamant barrier and wishing the time to stop ticking. 

* * *

Yesterday, Lyra dreamt of a boy who wanders around a big house.

She thought it was just a meaningless dream, at least until she realized that she was the boy himself. She looked at her— _his_ — reflection in the mirror; the little boy was handsome with swept back silver hair and a black pajama. His serious and grumpy expression reminded of someone she couldn’t remember yet. She— the boy —wandered off around a big and dark house. It wasn’t her own intention; like her movement was controlled by someone else. She opened a chamber and let herself in. There was a woman who lay unconscious on the bed. Lyra could see traces of tears on the woman’s sullen face. Her body forced her to lift the quilt to cover the woman’s body and tip-toed herself out from the room.

When she was about to go back to her room, she heard a wheezing cry and followed the voice to the main hall. It didn’t take her too long to find out the source of the voice as her hand reached to open a white drawer, where another little boy with the same silver hair cried inside it.

“Vergil…” that little boy stared at her with a turbulent sob coming out from his mouth. “Father… you… you d-d-don’t believe that he died… r-right?”

_I am…Vergil?_

_Does that mean that this crying boy… Dante?_

The next thing Lyra remembered was she woke up with tears stream down her face like a waterfall, soaking her pillow. She was sure the sadness she felt in the entire dream wasn’t hers, but Vergil and Dante’s. She was going to tell Vergil about her strange dream when she saw the exact same white drawer in her dream at Sparda Manor, but she thought she was biased. Vergil had told her about how devastated his family was when they heard that Sparda was deceased, and her dream must be just her brain playing a trick to her.

But then she thought, _Vergil never told me that he found Dante hiding and crying in that draw…_

Tonight, Lyra falls into another strange dream. Even weirder and scarier. A titanic, god-like demon tortured her in the most unimaginably painful way. Her entire body was chained and spiked. The demon was merciless. His face was full of disgust and hatred as he spat her insults and penetrated her head with dreadful illusions she couldn’t even envision. He kept calling her “disgraceful offspring of the traitor Sparda”. It was only then she realized that she wasn’t herself, but Vergil.

Lyra fights herself to wake up, and is barely successful. The dream is too visceral that she almost still can feel the pain all over the body as she opens her eyes. Her back is wet from her own sweat.

_Why do I keep dreaming of him? Moreover, I never experienced this kind of pain…_

_Does it have something to do with our accidental mind link on that day? Strange things have happened since then..._

Her wave of thoughts are interrupted by the sudden thirst in her throat. She snaps her fingers and the light from the lamp brightens the bedroom. The door cracks slowly to open its way for Lyra. The librarian walks with leaden steps as she rubs her sleepy eyes. She almost stumbled upon a chair when she entered the kitchen.

“A cuppa sounds delightful to cure nightmares,” Lyra mumbles at herself, swinging her hand to summon a cup from the drawer. The cup flies and lands right in front of her, but she makes no further movement but staring blankly at the cup. Her body is still shivering by the imaginary pain from her nightmare.

“From all the people in the world, why does it have to be Vergil? This mind link is vexing me...”

The harsh cry of a raven causes Lyra to glance over the kitchen’s window. She curves a light smile while opening the window and lets a little raven enter her house. The raven lands on her shoulder for a while before flying around the house and lands on the kitchen counter.

“Where have you been, Corvus? Haven’t seen you for days!” Lyra greets the raven.

The little bird tilts its head and squawks. Lyra giggles as she pats the raven’s head. “Hey look. My friend gave his poem book to me and one of the titles is The Raven. I like it, by the way. And I’ve been thinking about him lately, even dreaming about him. To be honest, it’s disturbing. Do you think I should invite him here and tell him the truth?”

The raven gives her a nod.

“You are right. A cuppa is best served with a friend, don’t you think?”

Corvus flaps its wings eagerly. The black bird flies around Lyra’s head before making its way outside the house.

“Leaving already? You haven’t eaten yet!” Lyra shouts at the raven. “Alright then, send my regard to your girlfriend!”

Corvus squawks something like a curse, causing Lyra to barks in laughter. She heads back to the counter as she turns on the radio to entertain her confusing state of mind, picking the channel telepathically until she finds her favourite channel. She listens to the song while summoning her phone from the bedroom, tapping the screen until Vergil’s contact name pops on the screen.

> _**Down in the willow garden** _
> 
> _**Where me and my love did meet** _
> 
> _**As we sat a-courtin'** _
> 
> _**My love fell off to sleep** _
> 
> _**I had a bottle of burgundy wine** _
> 
> _**My love, she did not know** _
> 
> _**So I poisoned that dear little girl** _
> 
> _**On the banks below** _
> 
> _**I drew a saber through her** _
> 
> _**It was a bloody knife** _
> 
> _**I threw her in the river** _
> 
> _**Which was a dreadful sign** _

“By Jove, that song is sinister,” Lyra chuckles darkly. Her solemn face is turning pale. “As for the poisoned little girl… well…”

She clicks Vergil’s name, waiting for the devil to answer with fingers tangled between the black pendant on her neck, hoping half-heartedly that he wouldn’t pick her call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song at the end of chapter is "Down in the WIllow Garden" by The Everly Brothers


	2. Under The Fair Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After months of friendship, tonight is the first time for Vergil to visit Lyra's house for a tea... and some unexpected confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains disturbing themes such as dysfunctional family, parental abuse, drug abuse, PTSD, munchausen syndrome by proxy.

_He doesn’t remember how he ended up lying on the ground._

_He stares at the sky, only to find the full moon staring back at him._

Where am I? 

What am I doing here? 

_An agonizing wail distracts him from his own thoughts. If only he could move his body, it would be easier to find out what’s going on here. He starts to lose his sight as he feels something come out from his head, dripping to his ear, then to his back. He tries to glance at his surroundings in vain and realizes that his eyes are going to betray him again._

_Then he feels it— pain._

_A tremendous pain all over his body._

_The woman is screaming again. This time it is louder and sounds a lot more terrifying._

_As he struggles to move his body, with desperation creeping in his spine, he finally sees a glimpse of the woman’s figure. Standing on the rooftop of the house, she is trembling and sobbing. He can’t hear what she’s murmuring, yet something forces him to keep his eyes on her. It’s against his will, and he can’t do anything against it._

_To be fair, everything doesn’t make any sense to him since the beginning. He just wants to end this absurd dream._

_But now he’s sure of something; that he recognizes her face. He can see it clearly now. It all makes sense why she looks familiar since the first time he had this dream._ The same cold, void eyes _..._

_… that belong to the late Asteria Crescent._

* * *

The first thing that Vergil feels before he opens his eyes is someone else’s hand over his face. He stares blankly at the dark, which he soon recognizes as Dante’s hand blurring his vision. 

He pushes Dante’s hand slowly without waking him up, recalling the memory before the twins ended up passed out on the Devil May Cry entrance floor. 

The party went smoothly. Kyrie loved the music box that Vergil gave her and wore the bracelet after he told her its function. The meal was delicious. The kids were well-behaved—more than usual—they even went to bed early with Kyrie. After that, they played poker and Dante suggested having a drinking game. Vergil was never a heavy drinker, but of course he was forced to join the game. In the end, they drank too much and could barely remember who won the gamble. 

Vergil doesn’t remember the details, but the last thing he knew was that the cards and the smell of alcohol were all over the place. The entire crew passed out. Succumbing to alcohol and an over-flowing fatherly instinct, Vergil moved Nero to the couch and put a pillow under the young devil hunter’s head. He said goodbye to Trish, who was half-asleep on the dining table. Then he dragged Dante with him, made a sloppy movement to create a portal to Devil May Cry before he eventually collapsed. 

_I shouldn’t have drunk that forsaken whiskey,_ Vergil curses himself. 

The blue hybrid stretches his body and tries to get up feebly, kicking Dante’s waist. “Wake up, Dante. Don’t sleep on the floor.” 

The younger twin replies with a soft snore. 

Realizing that it’s going to be futile to wake Dante up, Vergil walks to the kitchen and grabs cold water from the refrigerator. His throat is dry and sore after swallowing too much whiskey. He empties half of the bottle while thinking about his weird dream again. 

“... Huston...” Dante murmurs in his sleep. 

Vergil furrows his brow. “Who?” 

“Play me... Elena Huston...” 

Vergil puts the bottle on the table and back to Dante, grabbing his little brother’s ankle and drags him to Dante’s room clumsily. The alcohol still exists in his blood, making him slightly difficult to coordinate his movement. After struggling a little while to put the red devil on the bed and taking off his shoes, Vergil covers Dante’s body with a blanket. _Foolish, meddlesome, slovenly little brother,_ Vergil grumbles, unaware of his opposite brotherly act of love he has done to Dante. 

“Hey Verge...” Dante mumbles. 

“What?” 

“Thanks... you ... sleep... too...” 

“Shut up, Dante. Just sleep.” 

Vergil chuckles silently after watching Dante go back to unconsciousness. He laments the time gap between them. He didn’t have a chance to grow up together with his brother, but although he was indifferent to humanity, he secretly hoped that Dante was safe, wherever his brother would be. Even when he had defeated Dante for numerous times, he had never meant to kill him even for once. 

Vergil cares for his brother more than he would ever admit. 

He heads out from the room and takes a seat on the couch. When he’s about to take off his coat, he feels his phone is vibrating. He takes the phone to decline the call and shut the phone down, but Lyra’s name pops on the screen. 

_Coincidence?_

He picks the call. 

“Vergil?” 

“...” 

“Vergil? Are you there?” 

“I’m fine,” he replies, almost like a whisper. “Just a little... tipsy.” 

Vergil hears her snorting. “I thought you hated alcohol? You said it makes you lose your control or whatsoever.” 

“Let’s just say the crews made me do it.” 

“Even Vergil Sparda couldn’t escape peer pressure, aye?” 

A subtle smile appears on Vergil’s mouth. “This is midnight, Stardust. You should’ve slept.” 

“I did. Then I woke up and couldn't sleep again. I remember you said cambions don’t need to sleep, so I reckon you are still awake. How was the party?” 

“What can I say?” Vergil massages his brow, relieving the pain on it. “Kyrie loved my present. Nero was more talkative to me than usual. Dante was less annoying. For the first time since I came back from Underworld, Mary didn’t glare at me like she wanted to kill me. Trish was civil. Nicoletta still wants to touch Yamato. Morrison still insists to give me his cigarette. The three little rascals asked me to read them _Animal Farm_ and they left early for bed.” 

A mocking snort comes out from the librarian. “Normally you would say ‘ _It’s fine’_ or something like that, but now you bother to describe the entire events to me—not that I complained though—it just convinces me that Vergil Sparda is sloshed for real.” 

“... I’m just... happy, I guess. That everything went well.” 

“Glad to know it,” there’s a short pause before she continues to speak. “Hey... do you know that there's this flower called butterfly pea?” 

“Consider this is the first time I heard that.” 

“It’s originally from southeast Asia. It has a pretty blue colour and if we brew it, we can have a blue tea. Bought a jar of it from Chinatown. In fact, I’m thinking of brewing it now, and... I think it would be great if I drink it with a friend,” Lyra chuckles nervously. “Would you mind coming for a cuppa? I know it’s midnight and you’re inebriated right now but—” 

“I accept the invitation.” 

There’s a gasp. “Seriously?” 

“Yes. I’ll be there in a minute.” 

“I thought you would decline it, but never mind! See you very soon!” 

Vergil looks at the phone screen blankly after Lyra hangs up the call. _Sounds odd. This is the first time she invites me to her house._ _What if this invitation has something to do with my dream?_

He remembers Lyra’s statement that she doesn’t believe in coincidence. _It’s all but synchronicity,_ she had said. 

Coincidence or not, he decides to leave anyway. 

* * *

Lyra’s neighborhood is always quiet. Surrounded by meadows and woods, her house is secluded and quite far from the central city. No one would have thought that there’s a small cottage here and someone lives there. Lyra had said to him once that she wants to live in solitude and avoid having some neighbors, or else she would go crazy by neighbors’ endless thoughts.

The door opens immediately after Vergil knocks. Lyra’s tender face shows up, smiling at his presence. She wears an oversized blue sweater and long pajama pants. But that’s not his main concern at the moment—it’s her stature. The moonlight helps Vergil to look at her scrupulously and realizes that he has never noticed how pale Lyra’s fair skin is, like she hasn’t seen the sun for a long time. Along with her dark eyes and shady smile, anyone could mistake her as a vampire. 

“Welcome to my small and humble cottage,” the librarian chuckles after examining the devil hunter in front of her. “You look fine for a drunken man.” 

Vergil shrugs. “Cut it out, will you?” 

“Just messing with you. Climb aboard.” 

As he follows behind her to enter the house, Vergil’s cautious eyes wander off to the house’ interior. The house is small with a cozy living room attached to the kitchen. The two doors beside the living room are assumed by Vergil to be a bedroom and a bathroom. He walks to the windows framed with burgundy drapes; the lace inner curtains remain drawn, allowing moonlight to enter the house. There he can see Lyra’s small garden, blooming delicately under the night sky. 

“I always fancy stargazer lilies and munstead wood rose.” Lyra says from the kitchen. 

“They look exquisite,” Vergil murmurs. “I can smell the fragrance even from here.” 

Vergil still stands in his place, watching the midnight breeze swing the flowers. Some of its petals have fallen to the ground. The next thing he sees is the butterflies flying around munstead wood roses. It’s rare to find butterflies in this metropolis. Knowing that there’s still beauty worth living, Vergil is grateful that he isn’t dead yet. He spent most of his lifetime isolating himself from the world, loathing the beauty inside it because he thought it was worthless. 

He glances to the kitchen where Lyra puts the kettle on the stove and takes a jar— he presumes that it’s dried butterfly pea— but seems like she’s having a tough time opening it. Trying his best to keep his dignity by not mocking her adorable struggle, he approaches her and takes the jar. 

“The strange and powerful human being with the ability to move every object only with her mind, couldn’t even open a goddamn jar.” Vergil remarks in sardonic tone. “Is this what you call friendship? Acting as your jar opener and transportation device?” 

Lyra taps her chin. “Tut-tut, Vergil Sparda. You forgot ‘personal bodyguard’ and ‘heat provider’.” 

“I’ve never thought that you’re such an opportunistic capitalist who used your friend for your convenience.” 

“Says a megalomaniac who raised a demon tree to fight his brother only to be kicked in the arse by his son.” 

“... that's... it won’t happen again,” Vergil looks away as he gives her the jar. “Nero hasn’t succeeded in defeating me since I came back from the Underworld." 

“Sure~ I believe you.” The teasing tone in Lyra’s word says otherwise, much to Vergil’s dismay. He decides to help her prepare the cups rather than to continue their banter as she puts the dried butterfly pea flower into the teapot. Lyra had told him to let her do all the work, but she finally gives up after Vergil glares at her while cleaning the cups with a napkin. 

“You finally made your dream come true.” Vergil says, putting cups on the saucers. 

“What dream?” 

Vergil points at a 36-strings lever harp beside the table in front of the sofa. 

“Oh!” Lyra exclaims, turning the stove off and brings the kettle on the countertop. “Couldn’t afford to buy pedal harp, so I’m quite satisfied to have this one. Sugar or lemon? Plain blue tea tastes super earthy, only if that’s your preference.” 

“Just lemon. Thank you.” 

“Okay. Have a seat on the sofa. I’ll bring the tea right there,” she says.

Vergil takes his time to observe the living room, which he finds odd since he entered this house. _This house is too... plain_. Except for the harp, a chess board, some Rubik cubes on the table and an old radio on the kitchen counter, there’s almost no personal touch in this house. No family pictures, trophies, or even a bookshelf.

 _Considering she’s a bookworm, that’s terribly odd. But as she said, this cottage is small._ He tries to ignore his hunch and turns his focus to admire the lever harp, plucking the strings cautiously and listening to its mesmerizing sound. 

“You like it?” Lyra asks while putting the tray on the table and pouring the tea to their cups. 

“It's magnificent,” Vergil takes his seat. “Let’s see if you’re capable of playing this astonishing instrument.” 

“Challenge accepted!” the librarian drags the harp to her side. “Happy or sad?” 

The blue devil stays silent for a while, staring at the cold fireplace before he glances at the window, remembering the moment when Lyra greeted him under the fair moonlight, causing his old soul to demand something soothing and nostalgic. “Play me Clair de Lune.” 

Lyra nods cheerfully. “Easy peasy.”

It’s such a picturesque scenery, to witness Lyra hold the harp like she was born to play it. It’s the same bewitching phenomenon as their little adventure a few days ago when they stargazed together to see the Lyrids. He’s bemused once he hears the strings from the lever harp plucked and formed a beautiful composition. The brighter and folksy sound from lever harp is different from the classic pedal harp, yet it doesn’t change the beauty and romantic tone from the song.

Vergil finds himself frozen under the spell— _it’s not just the song,_ he muses. _It’s her._

> **_Your soul is a chosen landscape_ **
> 
> **_Where charming masquerades and dancers are promenading_ **
> 
> **_Playing the lute and dancing, and almost_ **
> 
> **_Sad beneath their fantastic disguise_ ** **_s_ **
> 
> **_While singing in a minor key_ **
> 
> **_Of victorious love, and the pleasant life_ **
> 
> **_They seem not to believe in their own happiness_ **
> 
> **_And their song blends with the moonlight_ **
> 
> **_With the sad and beautiful moonlight_ **
> 
> **_Which sets the birds in the trees dreaming?_ **
> 
> **_And makes the fountains sob with ecstasy_ **
> 
> **_The slender water streams among the marble statues._ **

By the time when Lyra finally reaches the song’s outro, Vergil senses his body is less tense and his head gets back its clarity after succumbing to alcohol for hours. Her fingers are getting slower as she plucks the pin and a string for the last time, a satisfied smile appears on her face, “I like this song.” 

“So do I.” Vergil agrees. 

She giggles. “Next time, it’s your turn to play me a song. Dante told me that you’re a gifted violinist. He sent me a video of you playing _Caprice 24_ yesterday.” 

Vergil covers his face with his palm. “Kindly remind me to kill him soon.” 

“You play eloquently. You should be proud!” Lyra giggles and pours honey inside her cup. 

“Silence,” Vergil put a slice of lemon on his tea, the tail of his eyes spy on Lyra. “Instead of flattering me, why don't we just straight to the business?” 

“Sorry?” 

“It’s obvious that you didn’t invite me just for a cup of tea and impromptu recital.” 

The puzzled expression on Lyra’s face answers it all. She doesn’t say anything for a quiet long time, still stirring her tea as if she’s still preparing what to say to him. Vergil suspects she would avoid his question, but she just sighs and finally sips her own tea, “You’re right. But first, drink your tea.” 

Her eyes fixate on his, as if she commands him to mimic her gesture. He has no choice but to obey, lifting his cup to his mouth and carefully taste the blue tea. He enjoys the mixture between the natural flavor from the tea and the acid from the lemon, slurping more of them to please his throat. He would enjoy the tea more if Lyra didn’t give him that hollow gaze, causing him to wonder if she put poison inside the tea and wait for him to collapse, but if there’s any poison inside the tea, he would find it out even before he drinks it. 

“What do you think?” She blows the steam from the tea. 

“It’s good. Not too bitter, nor too bland.” 

“Drink a little more, then.” 

Again, Vergil obeys her. 

Lyra puts her cup on the table. “It’s easy, doesn’t it?” 

“What is it?” 

“When I told you to drink, it was easier for you to drink it.” 

“I don’t see why it should be difficult to drink it. It tastes good and it’s an act of courtesy.” 

“An act of courtesy,” she smiles bitterly. “Oh yeah, it was easier for me too.” 

Vergil puts his cup on the table with the intention to end Lyra’s vague trickery. The words he says next are full of certainty. “You had a dream of me.” 

Her eyes are widened, but she already expects him to spill the question. She nods, her fingers trail on a Rubik's cube. “Twice. Weird, huh?” 

“What did you dream about?” 

“Last night? I was you, grieven by the death of your father. You wandered to your mother’s room and cried together inside a drawer with Dante. An hour ago, I was you again, chained up and this titanic, god-like demon tortured you and called you ‘disgraceful offspring of the traitor Sparda’. I think it was Mundus.”

“That’s bizarre. I believe I haven’t told you about Dante and I inside the drawer. And that was what Mundus exactly told me when he tortured me in the Underworld.”

“What about you? Did you dream of me?” 

“I did,” he admits. “I’m afraid I failed to understand the context, since you haven’t told me any single things about you.” 

“Fair enough. In that case...” she holds her breath while solving the cube. “What did you see?” 

“I believe I was on your point of view when the dream occurred. You were gravely ill and your mother tended you. I still can recall how bad your headache was from that dream. Then Asteria— your mother— read you _The Hobbit_. In that dream, I didn’t know who she was, until you mentioned her name this afternoon. I decided to not bring it up to you until I found out why I dream about something I’ve never experienced and why it was about you.” 

“The dream, then,” she continues. “Have you seen another one after that?” 

He shakes his head. “None whatsoever.” 

“Really?” 

_Sorry, Lyra_. “Yes. Why?” 

“... nothing. A lot of weird things have happened since our accidental mind link. The dreams must be our memories. Let's say the dream was our brain projection of what we’ve told each other about our past, then how could we feel the pain we’ve never experienced before? How could I know the face of the demon I’ve never met before? I got a hypothesis that whenever I dream of you, you must’ve dreamt about me. But this time you didn’t dream of me while I dreamt of you. Seems like it doesn’t work like that...”

The sound of clicking cube stops at once, making Vergil wonder whether she stopped the cube because of his answer or she has solved the cube since all the layers are already in the right places. 

“I was sickly back then. Could barely leave my bed,” Lyra says, showing him the cube. “And this was the only thing I could do, aside from reading.” 

Vergil receives the cube. “I saw plenty of this thing in my dream.” 

She rests her back on the head of the couch. “What do you think of my mother?” 

“She seems caring and nurturing.” 

“Do you love your mother?” 

“What kind of question is that? Of course.” 

“I’m glad that you do.” 

“You don’t love your mother?” 

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, her eyes are dreary. She lifts her feet on the couch and moves her body to face the devil. “I don’t want to lie to you, Vergil.” 

“Then don’t. We promised to not lie to each other.” 

She chuckles coldly. “Where should I begin... oh right, I told you I was sickly. Mum said I got this rare genetic disorder called severe combined immunodeficiency. SCID made me extremely vulnerable of diseases. Therefore, I should live in a sterile and isolated environment. I could barely leave my own house, couldn’t even open the window just to smell my garden. Didn’t get a chance to meet new people other than my mother, my nurse— I forgot her name, I never liked her anyway— and my governess, Norma.” 

Lyra closes her eyes for a while before she continues. “She was a great scientist. She was the smartest person I’ve ever known. She was the one who made me in love with astronomy. I could only see her infamous work on telly and newspapers. Some days, there were people who came to visit us and talked to mum. They were forbidden to meet me because of my condition. Some of them left me notes and little presents, wishing me good health. They told my mum to have faith and carry on. And whenever my mum had to attend international conferences, she cried so much a day before her flight because she had to leave me, even though Norma was there with me.” 

“What about your father?” 

“Never knew him. Mum was never married. She always looked blue whenever I asked her about my father, so I stopped asking.”

Lyra clenches her hand before taking the Rubik cube from Vergil’s hand and begins to play it again. “We only had each other, that means we need to protect each other. I never questioned anything because she took care of me and devoted on me. If it wasn’t my mother, who else wanted to take care of me? I liked Norma, but she was paid for nursing me. She could leave anytime soon, but not my mum. She was the only family I had, and I loved her.” 

Lyra gazes at Vergil, whose face is straight still without any meaningful reactions. “I ate and slept as ordered. Took my medicines. Never once went outside the house. I did exactly what my mum instructed. But one day I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt dizzy almost every day. I threw up a lot. Sometimes I couldn’t even move my own body. I didn’t feel any better, just getting worse day by day. I felt like I could die any time.” 

She shuffles the cube again after solving it. “One day, I stopped taking all of it.” 

“The medicines.” Vergil emphasizes, remembering the nasty smell of medicine in his dream. 

Lyra nods. “No matter how persistent Mum’s and the nurse' persuasion, I didn’t take it. I just wanted it to be over. Then something unexpected happened,” she lets out a small grin. “I was getting better. Much better. I could walk without taking a deep breath anymore. I went to the garden without having a nosebleed. I didn’t throw up. My headache was gone. I felt like I was... reborn.” 

Lyra takes another deep breath; her hands stop shuffling the cube. “I never said it out loud, but Mum was sick. Very sick,” she taps her head with her index finger. “Mentally.” 

Vergil tilts his head. _That’s unexpected_. “What makes you think so?” 

The librarian puts the cube on the table, leaving it unsolved. “Any time I refused to take medicine or disobeyed her, she distanced herself from me. She didn’t reciprocate everything I did. She was just going straight inside her room and locked the door. It was almost like she resented me— no, _punishing_ me for disobeying her. She loved playing this guilt-trip game so much. It seems like she liked it whenever she succeeded to make me think that I was a worthless daughter.” 

“I know there are parents who treat their children poorly and abusively,” Vergil contemplates. “But I’m afraid I still couldn’t comprehend why your mother did that to you. You were only a child. A terribly ill child. She should’ve been happy instead of punishing you for your better condition. I understand that we could never judge a book by its cover, but… in my dream, she seemed like... she loved you wholeheartedly. Why would she want to hurt her own daughter?"

Lyra hugs her knees. “When someone keeps putting a person in ugly circumstances, I can only think that it’s either out of hatred or love.” 

“Why would you put the person you love in such circumstances?” 

“Love can be... poisonous,” Lyra stares blankly at the ceiling. “It’s always easier to hurt someone you hate. It makes more sense. But if you love someone, you’d do anything for them, even if it’s beyond logic, consciously or not. You’d call it kindness and love, but it’s actually poison. You hurt your beloved ones and say that you do that because you love them. You keep them close to you, shower them your love until they’re blind by your love and never find the help they really need...” 

Noticing her body begins to shiver, Vergil takes off his coat and wraps it around Lyra’s body to keep her comfortable. He couldn’t help but empathized with her. She’s as confused as he is about human emotions, which is surprising. She always looks so confident, like there’s no obstacle that could damage her. But now while she slowly reveals her past, she looks extremely vulnerable. It makes Vergil want to help her somehow, even just to calm her down. 

“Here,” Vergil says, hesitantly offers his hand. “Just until you feel better.” 

Lyra’s anxiety gradually calms down as their hands are attached. Vergil’s gloved palm is hard as steel—one squeeze can crush her bone, yet she can only feel the warmth between their entangled hands. 

She lets out a sad smile. _How long has it been since the last time someone holds my hand?_

“Do you feel better now?” Vergil finally breaks the ice. 

“A little,” Lyra agrees. “Although I must admit, this is awkward.” 

Vergil closes his eyes and chuckles as he rests his body on the head of the sofa. “I don’t know what madness leads me to do this. Perhaps it’s because of you. You are a terrible influence for me.” 

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to your best friend!” 

“How unfortunate.” 

With their hands still attached, Lyra lowers the coat from her head, revealing threads of her golden brunette hair, shifting her body to lean on the sofa. “Have you ever heard about Munchausen syndrome?” 

“A mental disorder in which a person deliberately malingering?” 

“Yup. And there is another one called Munchausen by proxy. Means the caregiver is the one who fakes the illness in a person under their care.” 

“You mean...” 

Lyra scoffs bitterly. “I know one should not self-diagnose without proper professional assessment. Mum was never clinically diagnosed, nor that people noticed her traits. They only knew her as a devoted mother and a great scientist. But I’m the one who lived under the same roof with her and I knew her better than anyone else. I could give you examples of how much my mother **loved** me” 

“There was one time after my refusal to take my medicines, she humiliated me in front of her colleagues,” she continues with a calmer voice. “I was helping her to arrange a bouquet of roses to be placed at the living room. It was unusual that she allowed me to do the ‘hard work’. I did what she asked. I wanted to please her, just to see her smile again. I wanted her to look at me as her daughter, not a failure. I cut the roses diligently, and my fingers were bleeding because I was careless. I didn’t know that Mum brought her colleagues home, and they saw my bleeding fingers. She went nuts when she saw my fingers, scolded me for touching the roses. She said rubbish like, ‘I told you to not touch them!’ ‘Why are you so careless?’ ‘Oh, my poor, darling baby’ while her colleagues gave us the pity look as Mum brought me to my chamber, tended my wounds exaggeratedly, telling me that the pain will be gone soon and the wounds won’t leave any scratches. I was going to ask her why she lied to her colleagues but she kept shushing me like I’m a bloody idiot. I was confused, like, what did I do wrong?” 

Lyra glances at Vergil, whose eyes are fixated to the fireplace in a silent rage. “You might’ve thought I was too naïve to indulge her unhealthy behaviour.” 

“It wasn’t your fault. You were too weak and innocent to defend yourself,” the door to Vergil’s memory palace where his darkest memories are stored is widely opened. “It sounds like self-justification, but we were just children. We couldn’t have known the cause of what was happening back then. You didn’t deserve everything your mother did to you.” 

The contemplative words from Vergil slightly lightens the weight on Lyra’s shoulders. Her solemn smile emphasizes her hidden sadness and weariness. “At those days, I thought she was just knackered, or in a bad mood. Maybe she really worried about me. Maybe I was too stubborn and that made her gutted, so I endured. I took those bloody medicines because it was easier for me. She was so happy and for a moment, I thought I was happy too. Took it longer for me to realize that I was frightened, but I had no options but obeyed her.”

Vergil remains silent whilst feeling Lyra’s thumb tapping on the back of his hand. He waits patiently for her to gather herself before she mumbles quietly. “I’ve been wondering too... why would anyone want to go back to the person who hurt them?” 

“Violence often acts in a cycle,” Vergil squeezes her hand lightly as a reassurance. “Once the perpetrator realized their mistake, they would beg for forgiveness. Some people mean it, some people don’t,” he sighs deeply, carefully putting his words together. “You thought by forgiving your mother, she could change for the better. That forgiveness would improve your relationship with her. You came back to her, sacrificing your safety and well-being to seek her love and comfort. She planted the fear inside you. It was a wheel you couldn’t escape. But you were never a fool for coming back to her. You loved her and you were a child who had no one to have your back but your mother. Even when your expectation failed you, you could only rely on her. ” 

“I tried to break the wheel,” Lyra pulls away their hands and cups her face, sliding it to her head like she had a headache. “There were countless times when I thought about running away. But it never happened. I couldn’t even survive five minutes outside. If I told anyone about my suspicion of Mum’s actions on me, they would never believe me and call me a spoiled child instead. Norma was the only person who believed me. She was trying to help me, like quietly flushing the medicines whenever I couldn’t take it anymore. Then she was fired shortly after she spoke to Mum about her nonsensical punishment to me.” 

Lyra bites her lips. “It seemed like Mum tried to cut every string with Norma. I never heard about her anymore. Never found her phone number or address. There was a time when I missed her but I couldn’t contact her. She was the only person who believed me and my mother took her away from me because Norma defended me from Mum’s fucked up behaviour.”

A sting of familiar dread creeps inside Vergil’s bone, despite his awareness that it wasn’t his own fear but residues from his first dream about Lyra. He remembers his futile effort to move the body and the way Asteria’s calm yet terrifying gaze at him when she feeds him. The unpleasant sound from the friction between the spoon and the bowl... Asteria’s shady voice as she told him her worries... 

“I told you I never knew exactly when I acquired my power, right? Because as long as I remember, I always had this power from the very beginning. I knew what pawn Norma would pick whenever we played chess. I knew the next word my mother was going to say. There were times I accidentally moved things even without touching them. I thought I was just imagining things,” Lyra fixes Vergil’s coat. “Therefore, when Mum scolded me again, I felt my wrath burning and something inside me burst out. I was shocked because suddenly almost anything inside my bedroom was dropped—the books, the toys, the lamps. Mum was pale and silent like a ghost while staring at the mess, until the nurse came. She glared at me like I was a freak and the last thing I remember was I woke up and was unable to move my body. I suspected Mum had me drugged again to prevent me causing havoc. She still had the audacity to act normal, even read me _The Hobbit_ like yesterday was nothing.” 

Vergil’s icy eyes get wider slightly. “The event in my dream...” 

“Now you know,” Lyra giggles but her face stays impassive. “Then a month later, there came the moment when we both fell.” 

Vergil straightens up his body. The picture of his second dream of her comes up in his mind. The same soulless eyes that he saw back then when there was a murder in the library a few months ago appear once more on Lyra. Somehow, Vergil knows where this conversation is heading and he knows he won’t like it. “What do you mean by _'we’_?” 

The pure honesty in Lyra’s eyes makes Vergil’s blood curdle. “I told you, didn’t I? I don’t want to lie to you.” 

* * *

It was the end of the fall season when six-years old Lyra woke up from her slumber. She glanced at the clock on the wall, grinning unconsciously. _They say 3 o’clock in the morning is devil’s hour._ Unable to go back to sleep, she grabbed her mauve cardigan and decided to take a little detour to the balcony. _I could find some autumn constellation,_ she thought with excitement. She remembered her mother hadn’t packed the cool and sophisticated telescope she had always admired since the very first time Asteria brought it home, and she left it on the balcony this afternoon. 

Little Lyra succeeded sneaking out from her bedroom. The mouthful and annoying nurse was nowhere to be seen. She was sure that Asteria is already sleeping. Lately, Asteria didn’t show her ‘lunatic’ nature to Lyra, which Lyra was grateful for. So when she found Asteria on the balcony, Lyra’s excitement instantly turned into fear. Her mother stood with her hands on the balustrade. The telescope was still there, but it seems like Asteria hadn’t used it again since the afternoon. Thinking that her mother wouldn’t notice her presence, Lyra tip-toed to going back to her chamber, but Asteria saw her and startled. It was almost like Asteria scared of being caught on the balcony. 

“Solstice?” Asteria gasped. “Why do you— oh, never mind. You must be here to stargaze, aren’t you? Come here, sweets.” A warm smile appeared on her face as she sat on the chair and fixed the telescope. 

Lyra’s fight or flight instinct soared up. It was already horrible to think her mother would scold her for sneaking from her bed, but the sullen face of Asteria was unsettling. It looked like she was able to burst any time soon. 

“Come on,” Asteria insisted. “Look, there is Andromeda!” 

Without making any sound, Lyra climbed on her mother’s lap timidly. Asteria told her to peek into the eyepiece, which Lyra reluctantly did. 

“What do you think?” asked Asteria. 

“Beautiful,” Lyra said. “But I don’t understand.” 

“About what?” 

“The pattern. Andromeda doesn’t look like she was chained. More like she fell from the sky and died on the ground.” 

Asteria chuckled. “As per usual, sweets. You have a vivid imagination.” 

“I just don’t like that story. It was Andromeda’s parents’ fault, but she was the one who got sacrificed.” 

“The gods punished her parents too.” 

“Yet the gods placed them among the stars. It’s not fair.” Lyra murmured. 

“Well, it’s mythology,” Asteria caressed Lyra’s hair. “On the other side, I think Cassiopeia loved her daughter. Too much that she got the audacity to boast about Andromeda’s beauty. If she were really that self-centred, she’d boasted her own beauty instead.” 

Lyra’s small hands adjusted the focusing knob slowly. “If she really loved her, she would think for her daughter’s safety.” 

It took Asteria a quite long time to respond. She hugged her little daughter from behind, resting her head on Lyra's crown and massaging Lyra’s shoulders. “Why don’t you go back to sleep? It’s cold here.” 

_Mummy sounds tired,_ Lyra noticed. Yet asking questions right now wouldn’t be the best choice. Asteria gave her a good night kiss lightly before letting Lyra off from her lap. 

“You’re right. Cassiopeia’s pride put her daughter in danger,” Asteria said, cuddling her daughter tightly. “I love you, Solstice. I’m sorry for everything.” 

_What was that?_ Lyra felt an itchy ache somewhere in her heart by just listening to her apology, but Asteria just smiled as if she had never said anything. She waved at her, telling her wish for Lyra to have a sweet dream. 

Lyra walked away from her mother with heavy steps, despite her wish to stay a little bit longer. Asteria seemed to be in a good mood this time, and that tender side of her melted Lyra’s heart. She’s her mother, after all. She couldn’t help but love her unconditionally. _I hope I don’t agitate her_ , she hoped as she turned her direction to enter the balcony again, planning to beg to stay for a while. 

But when she turned around, the horror already waited for her there. 

Lyra was screaming like a wild animal as she ran and ran... 

“MUMMY!!!!!” 

… towards Asteria, who jumped from the balustrade. 

_Don’t leave me here!_ Lyra’s body felt like it was burning in blaze. She could feel an overwhelming power within her burst out. _Please God, let me use that power again!_

Her breath got heavier as she jumped from the guardrail and reached her hand to her mother with a hope to save her. It felt like eternity when she realized that her mother was floating on the air instead of falling. With an eerie face, Asteria screamed her daughter’s name while she was brought by an invisible force to the rooftop again. 

_I did it!_ Lyra thought cheerfully, but not for long because she quickly realized her mysterious power didn’t bring her to the balcony too. She tried to focus on herself, doing whatever she can to release her power again. She knew her power was still raw and immature. She had planned to practice secretly tomorrow, but she had no idea that things would go south like this. _The first was always luck or coincidence_ , Norma had said to Lyra when she found out Lyra’s little secret _. But there will be no more luck for the second time._ _There is no such thing as coincidence, but synchronicity..._

While Lyra was still thinking about why her power didn’t work, her body crushed on the ground violently. 

She was sure she heard the sound of her fractured bones. 

She had never experienced that kind of pain before. All those side effects from her medicines was nothing compared to this one. The pain gradually ended as the numbness consumed her body. She looked at the sky, thinking how poetic her fall was under the fair moonlight with her motionless body. She was sure she saw Asteria on the balcony, shrieking and saying something she could not comprehend. _Why did she jump? Was that because of me?_ _Maybe because I made Mummy angry again... maybe afterlife seems better than living with me..._

Lyra was willing to go. Afterall, she was sick of being isolated. Death seems promising. At least she would be free from medicine and endless hope for getting a healthy body. _I look like Andromeda_ , she thought as she felt her eyes getting heavier. _Like someone lying dead on the ground._

She knew it’s time to go when her eyelids could barely manage to stay open. She hoped Asteria would live a better world without her. If only she could laugh right now, she would do it for the last time, so she wouldn’t feel too bitter about death. 

_Mum—_

Unfortunately, she never got a chance to think further. The only thing she saw before she lost her consciousness was her mother climbing up the balustrade again, this time to follow her daughter to death. 

* * *

“Stardust?” 

The gentle voice of Vergil startles Lyra back to reality. She doesn’t know how long the time has passed since she told him how her mother died. The long, buried weariness and sadness inside her consumes her like she has just released a huge burden from her body at once.

“Sorry, I was preoccupied with my own head.” Lyra scratches her right ankle, a habit she couldn’t let go since that tragic day. “You alright?” 

“I was supposed to be the one who asked,” the blue devil says. “Are you sure you’re going to continue? We could discuss this later.” 

“Nah, I’m fine. Just adjusting myself because I’ve never opened up to anyone else before,” Lyra continues, ignoring Vergil’s pity look. “Anyway, after that, I woke up in the local hospital. They said my nurse heard my mother’s scream and went to check. That was how she found us and called the ambulance. When we reached the hospital, they said they couldn’t save us. They went insane because suddenly my heart started beating again in an hour. They put me under intensive care for three months. I got severely broken bones and head trauma—I needed to do a couple more surgeries and physiotherapy. They said it was a miracle for me to survive and recover rapidly.” 

“That must have something to do with your power.” Vergil adds. 

“That’s very likely. I woke up hearing voices and seeing things I wasn’t supposed to be. I thought I was just dreaming, but day by day I spent my time hospitalized, I knew it was real. Those voices and images were people’s thoughts,” Lyra chuckles with irony on her lips. “It was already too much for me to read minds at once, and then I found out that my mother died. I saved her life just for giving her a chance to jump again.” 

_She sounds ireful rather than sad,_ Vergil suspects. He can’t deny his instinct to not let his attention to Lyra’s right ankle, which he stores his suspicion for a long time. 

“One day, Mum’s lawyer came to visit me at the hospital. She said since I’m an orphan and have no relatives, she will act as my guardian and I’ll receive inheritance whenever I reach legal age. The whole ‘guardian’ part was just formality because she’ll send me to an orphanage once I get discharged from hospital. Even I knew what she had stored in mind before she started to speak. But that didn’t really concern me,” Lyra takes a deep breath and exhales. Her expression is slightly twisted as she telekinetically raises a Rubik's cube and tears every cube apart before she smashes them into flakes. 

_What in the seven hells—_ “Lyra.” Vergil calls her, but the word seems unreachable to her. 

“I was going to forgive my mother because I wanted her to rest in peace, yet again she proved it to me that she was a fucking devil.” 

Another cube is crushed, followed by a loud cracking sound from the teacup. 

“The lawyer couldn’t bear to tell me this, but she found fake prescriptions of my daily medicines and a drawer full of placebo pills in my mother’s room. The doctors told her that they found traces of placebo pills and a very tiny dose of rat poison inside me. A. Fucking. Rat. Poison—” 

The radio on the kitchen counter starts playing by itself, followed by a loud bang from Lyra’s front door. 

“It was all placebo. There was never a fucking SCID nor fucking illness. I was perfectly fine from the start! The only reason why I always felt sick was because of that rat poison and abominable suggestions from that fucking b—” 

Vergil grips her shoulder. “Lyra, you will destroy the entire house. Please stay calm.” 

The view of her floating table pulls Lyra back to the earth. She startles at first, but it doesn’t last as she finally gathers herself and puts the table back to the ground. The bleak on her face remains while she tightens up Vergil’s coat. “Sorry.” 

“I told you to stop earlier.”

“I can never be ready to tell you the truth unless I do it right now.”

“Fine, but if I notice even a small sign of you going berserk again, we have to stop this conversation.”

“Deal.” 

“Good. Then, did the nurse have any knowledge about the poisoning?” 

Lyra shakes her head in disappointment. “She claimed that Mum just gave her my medical certificate and records, which the lawyer found to be fake. Mum made up those records as if they were authorized by a credible health facility. She made up things and fucked up my life for Hell knows what she was up to. Then she just fucking died and leaving me alone without any explanation on everything.” 

Vergil wipes his face in frustration, _This is more messed up than I thought it would be._

Lyra lets out a rugged laugh. “You know what happened next. The media never told people how my mother died.” 

“That’s what I always thought to be very suspicious. They can’t just spread false rumour. There’s evidence, witnesses and statements from the police and hospital.” 

“All I could think was that Asteria Crescent was an infamous astrobiologist with great reputation. Imagine if the world knew this brilliant person was a mad woman who poisoned her own daughter. That would destroy the reputation of academical world. Her good legacy must be remembered.” 

“... Was that really easy for humans to alter the truth?” 

The librarian laughs bitterly. “They do it all the time, Vergil. It’s easier than you think it is. Money talks louder than words. They must’ve silenced Mum’s lawyer too since she said nothing about the truth to me. I tried to tell them that my mother was insane and that wasn’t how she died, but they thought I was the one who lost my mind. PTSD, head trauma, reconstructed memory, call it what you want. I don’t know who started it, why and how, but they closed the case.” 

“But who were these people? Why did such a grandiose plan just to cover up a scientist’s death?” 

“Who knows. There’s always someone behind the stage.” 

“And they really sent you to an orphanage?” 

“Yes, maybe to shut my mouth. Mum’s lawyer managed my financial support, but she never showed up at the orphanage.” 

Lyra bites her lips, like she doesn’t know how to continue and stumbles over her own words. She scratches her right ankle again. “Kids in the orphanage used to tease me for limping whenever I walked. It’s odd for me, even until now. The doctor said I had fully recovered, just needed to adjust myself to the outside world since I stayed indoors for too long. But the sore thing in my ankle here never really disappears. I never found out why. All doctors I’ve consulted with said despite the fading scar on the skin, my ankle is perfectly fine and should’ve been functional. People couldn’t even see me limping, at least until a certain sulky devil spotted it.” 

“I’m not sulky.” 

“The more you deny it, the more it’s true.” 

“Your logical fallacy amuses me.” 

A relieved laugh comes out from Lyra. “You got me there.” 

With the smile on her face blooming again, Vergil feels a towering wave of unpleasant ache filling his whole heart. Right now, he can grasp the reason why Lyra acts too secretive. He knows that burden very well; to be unable to trust anyone but themselves. Lyra has never received the real love from her mother, which was different from Vergil. Her childhood and self-esteem were stolen from her own kin. That is also the reason why Lyra can easily understand him, despite his despicable sins. Lyra has already had the power and was able to save her mother, yet in the end Asteria chose to kill herself. Contrary to Vergil, who even had demon power since birth, but he couldn’t save his mother from her doom. His love for his family was Vergil’s motivation to gain more power, which is a total opposite from Lyra who hates her mother and resents her power. They are two sides of the same coin.

“Terra to Vergil?” Lyra snaps her fingers in front of Vergil’s face. 

“Pardon me,” Vergil says. “I was just contemplating.” 

“About what?” 

“About how humans can be so much worse than demons. No offense.” 

“None had taken.” 

The blue devil hesitates before he asks. “How... How did you cope from that?” 

“Hmmm...” Lyra mumbles and sighs heavily. “It’s not easy. It still affects me in a way. I grew up thinking that people can’t be trusted. Telepathy made it worse. I hesitate to live, but I don’t want to die either. It’s difficult to form any connection, no matter how much effort I took to fit in. I’m not even sure myself whether this is the real me or I’m just a skilled imitator who fits people’s expectations.” 

She smiles, this time the gloom on her lips is fading. “I met people who were sincerely decent and empathetic. But somehow, I just couldn’t bring myself to open up and let them enter my circle. I used to blame my mum for this trust issue, but lately I suspect it was on me.” 

“You’re not the one to blame, Lyra.” 

Lyra shakes her head. “I choose to leave them before they get too close to me.” 

“Because you don’t want people to see your scar?” 

“I thought the reason I’m pulling myself from society was because I’m afraid that I’d get hurt. Took me a long time to realize that I’m worried that I’d hurt people. That’s what you got when you have a telepath as your friend. You’d get caught in endless insecurity of having your minds in constant danger, while I really don’t want to read one. If only Sparda’s magic didn’t protect you and Dante, you’d leave me since day one.” 

“I won’t.” 

“Mundus screwed up your brain, Vergil. You have a thousand reasons for hating telepaths.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I saw your dreams. I know how much you want to kill those who fucks with you.” 

“And I saw yours too, Lyra. I know how much you hate your mother, but deep down you still love her. Even since you saw her falling from the balcony.” 

The realization hits her hard. “Wait— you knew this all along?!”

“Forgive me, but you won’t tell me the truth unless I told you a white lie. Your hypothesis is true; that our dreams occurred simultaneously.” 

“You—” Lyra glares at Vergil like he has done treacherous betrayal, but she gathers herself up since she knows she was the one who lied to him first. She can’t deny that everything he said was true. It has been said that the dead won’t stay only if the living sets them free. For Lyra, it jabs her heart whenever she tries to brush that fact away. She knows that her hatred would rot her soul, yet it’s difficult to forgive her mother, who had tried to end her life multiple times. 

“I envy you, Vergil,” Lyra confesses. “You were an arsehole evil lord back then, but you had a reasonable motive for fighting. You have a family. I got none. I don’t see the point of keep going on. Everyone wants me dead.” 

“People are afraid of what they don’t understand,” Vergil states without any doubts in his voice. “It’s understandable since you’re undeniably enigmatic and can be threatening. But my fool brother of mine was right; strength is a choice. You choose to be strong to prevent more loss. You have every right to live, for death is the end. Make a full life while it lasts.” 

“I wonder if I had such a reason to stay.” 

Vergil straightens up his seat with a wary and cautious expression. “Sometimes… It doesn’t have to be something big. “

“Such as?”

“I don’t know…” he chuckles half-heartedly. “Don’t you have something to cherish for? Something that makes you willing to trade your life with?”

“Hmmm…. I love my job. I love books and the stars. But I don’t think I’d give up my life for that...” Lyra hums indifferently. “I think not. Nothing very important in particular.”

“There are things that could be important, but not everything important is worth cherishing.”

“What makes it different?”

“As time goes on, important things could become less important. The urgency wears off,” Vergil says quietly as he curves a faint smile, reminiscing his bonding time with Nero. “But something precious, something you hold dear most... you will suffer when they are taken from you.”

“Something precious, huh...?” Lyra’s eyes wander off, her voice is softer than a whisper. “Like... you...?”

Vergil almost gets choked by his own breath. “Beg your pardon?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing!”

“I’m certain that you said something.”

“If you’re so certain about that, why can’t you listen and repeat back what I said?”

“Because I couldn’t hear that properly!”

“Your loss.” 

“You meddlesome creature.”

“You angry kitten.” Lyra holds her mouth to prevent her laughter from going too loud. 

Vergil glares at her. “What did you just call me?!”

“Nothing~ I’m sleepy~” Lyra stretches her arms, the corner of her eyes flashes a mischief as she glances to the oblivious Vergil. “Those self-help books were right. It’s relieving to have the right person to share the burden with—”

“Don’t you dare try to change the topic. If you ever call me an angry kitten again—”

“We’re still talking about that? Bloody hell, Vergil, I’m just kidding!” Lyra holds his palms and takes off his gloves. “Come on, we need to rest. You might be sober now but even the strongest demon needs to sleep.”

A light crumple curves on Vergil’s forehead. “Why do you take my gloves off?”

“Do you have a habit to keep your gloves on while sleeping?”

“Hold on,” Vergil hesitates as he pulls his hand. “You want me to sleep here? In your house?”

“Yup.”

“You know that it’s not… very decent for an unmarried woman and a man to stay under the same roof.”

“Since when do you care about custom?”

“I’m not necessarily care about customs,” Vergil grunts. “It’s your convenience that I’m concerned about.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Lyra cleans up the table and waves her hand to send the tray to the dishwasher before making her way to the bedroom. “But my sofa is too small for you, and considering I have a quite spacious bed that fits two people, I don’t see any reasons why I would let my friend freeze on the sofa.”

Lyra opens the door, glancing at Vergil and tilts her head as a sign for him to follow her into the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem mentioned in this fic is "Clair de Lune"' by Paul Verlaine, which is the inspiration for Claude Debussy's Claire de Lune from Suite Bergamasque.


End file.
